More than Modesty
by Friendship-Bravery-Souffles
Summary: The Doctor left a lot out of how he and I came to Sweetville for the sake of time. But time is not the boss of you, and you should always waste time when you don't have any.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first fanfic ever… Reviews are very welcome as is constructive criticism. I've always had a lot of ideas for stories but I can never seem to get them written down.**

**Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and company.**

_**More than Modesty **_

My name is Clara Oswald and I don't know where I am.

No, it is not a Bank Holiday at Blackpool beach, and no, I am not stranded on a far flung planet where the dogs have no noses (that was last week) and no, the grumpy old cow known as the TARDIS has not decided to spin a maze around me while I look for the library in here.

Nope, there is nothing grand about my situation even if I am lost in something which for me is completely out of this world. What I am currently trying to find my way out of is more layers of clothing than I can count. I can't seem to find a way to get my head back out into the light.

Honestly, why the Doctor suddenly became so keen on going to Victorian London I can't say, but then he's the Doctor. One minute he will be on about a banana grove someplace I think is called Villenguard, the next it is all about how quaint the streets of London are in 1893. He seems to think if he keeps talking, keeps moving and keeps smiling I will either forget or simply not notice the moments that he looks at me like I am going to vanish into thin air, or when he looks like the loneliest man in all of creation.

Far from making me not see those moments though, the contrast highlights them. Despite the giddy running, and the dancing, and the bowties, I will never forget those other moments, when his eyes show how old he is, and more importantly how scared he is. Why he seems to fear me, or fear that I will vanish, or fears something to do with me I can't say. Perhaps connecting his fear to me somehow is egotistical but it always seems to show when he is looking at me or talking to me. I don't think I miss much. Speaking of vanishing, that looks like the way through the top of this skirt…

Okay Clara, we are back into the world of the living and breathing easy… Well I say _easy_, when _easier_ would probably be more accurate. I'm still wearing umpteen layers and a corset. Now that my head has nothing draped over top of it though, I can very clearly hear the sound of a massive explosion echoing from somewhere else in the TARDIS.

Okay, so the Doctor usually tinkers with the cow box and little zaps, clangs, sparks etcetera are not uncommon, but that sounded bad. Really bad… Nanny instinct tells me to run to the possibly wounded child first and ask questions later.

Yes I just called the Doctor a child.

Some moments he is most definitely a thousand year old God like being, terrifying and glorious all at the same time, others he is more like a cosmic five year old who might trip over his own laces. As I open the door to run to his rescue, I remember something…

All I am wearing are my underwear, or rather undergarments. One part of me reminds myself that these are Victorian, meaning more coverage than what many people ever have in my day even when fully dressed. Another part of my mind reminds me that I am running to (potentially save) the Doctor. The man who is more easily scandalized than probably anyone else I have ever met. Smoke starts to float down the corridor however, which ends this internal debate.

I can deal with him being scandalized. Quite frankly he is funny when he looks at me incredulously after I say or do something that makes him blush. I like to make him look like that, he is never sad when he is blushing. What I can't deal with is if anything were to happen to him. So I dash down the corridor, following the trail of smoke back to its source, which is inevitably the console room. As I burst in I am about to call out his name when I hear him speak.

"Oh you sexy thing."

Well Clara… That is enough to stop you dead in your tracks.

The Doctor just called someone sexy.

This brings several thoughts flooding into my brain all at once. He hasn't seen me yet, or at least I don't think he has, and regardless this is the Doctor we are talking about here. But if it isn't me he is speaking to, which I have now decided he can't be, there is the fact that he _is_ talking to someone, and there has never been anyone other than us two on this ship. He doesn't like to trust people, or at least I don't think he does, so who on earth or elsewhere would be in here. Also, I'm not admitting to the little flutter my heart did at the tone of his voice when he said it. No. Not at all. It didn't happen and I am not thinking about it.

As all of these thoughts race through my head, he suddenly appears from under the console, wiping soot from his face with one hand, holding the sonic spanner thing in the other and with a look on his face that was somewhere between Christmas coming early and a sexy smirk.

And of course he noticed me standing here, and the smirk instantly disappears to be replaced by the look of incredulity I guessed would come if he saw me like this. I say instant, but it wasn't quite that fast, if we are being honest he did give me a bit of a once over before he decided to look taken back. Down boy?

"Clara. What are you doing standing about in, in that? It's not… Decent." The last word sounded a bit forced.

"Well, I heard something that sounded like you might have set off a nuclear warhead, then saw smoke, and decided your well being was worth more to me than my modesty." I say to him. That is the truth after all. The Doctor's safety is worth a lot more to me than that…

"Who else is in here?" I add, more nervously than I would have liked to, damn my voice for giving me away. The Doctor just looks at me confused, walking closer, studying my face as if it might give him the answer. "What?" He asks me.

"I just heard you talking to someone. You called them… You called them… Sexy…" Again my own voice betrays me at the last word, and I look at my feet. As if the stutter wasn't enough. Pull yourself together Clara. You running in here to protect him from something in your age old undergarments was supposed to make _him_ blush.

"Ooooohhh." The Doctor says, as he slips the sonic screwdriver back into his pocket.

"Clara, there is no one in here except you and me, that I know of at least, promise." He says, smiling down at me and crossing his hearts. "I was talking to the TARDIS."

Okay, my eyes shouldn't be able to go this wide. I know he talks to the cow box a lot, but sexy? Really?

"Why?" I get out weakly.

After raising an eyebrow at me as if that question has the most obvious answer in the universe he simply says, "Well because she is!" Seeing no eureka moment from me he continues.

"I was trying to fix the Medium Hadrian Collider, well more like see if it needed fixing, and no I don't mean the Large Hadrons Collider or Hadrian's Wall, it would be rubbish to have those under there, the Wall would take up too much space and Time Lords know more about black holes than anyone else ever will, we practically invented them. Anyways, I was trying to sort it out because I thought I heard it moaning a bit funny like when we got back from Barcelona last week. Possibly something to do with sitting in the cold of the South Pole for a few days a while back there, but I moved the wrong switch, which likely was the cause of that explosion you heard, and then smoke started blowing in my face, toxic smoke by the way, quite an unpleasant thing to inhale. _Then_ the TARDIS decided to turn on a ventilator I didn't know existed, probably because there is every chance it didn't exist before that moment, but she did it and it stopped me from passing out and possibly choking to death! See! Living metal that takes you through all of time and space, is always there when you need her, and is all wrapped up in the most wonderful shade of blue, isn't that sexy?" He has that early Christmas smirk again. Looking up and patting the console, he continues in a much lower tone of voice "Usually I only call you that when we're alone though, don't I dear?"

Apparently my discomfort with this whole conversation is very obvious, as the Doctor laughs at me a little, and I can't help but smile.

"All that said however, I am very glad that if she hadn't done something, you were here and would have come running in to save me." The Doctor says with a genuine smile. "Especially since you would have done it in your underwear."

I quirk an eyebrow at him at that. "_Especially _since I would have done it in my underwear?"

"I didn't mean!"

"I know."

"I just."

"I understand I do."

Oh no, I did it again. I didn't know what it was, but his eyes suddenly have the weight of the world, or rather the universe on them. He turns away mumbling something she can't hear. I don't understand why this happened, he won't tell me. Not that I would pry of course, although I would have listened if he wanted to tell me. It had something to do with pain and loss. That much was clear. I've had my own fair share in that, which makes it easier to spot in others, even when they try to mask it. And we all try to mask it really. Some lash out, some of us throw ourselves into school or work, some of us turn to others, some of us try to help others, some of us keep running and never stop if we can help it, and some of us do some combination of the above.

"I'm sorry." I say, putting a hand on his shoulder not really sure what else to do.

His hand reaches up to rest on top of mine. A moment later he spins around, looking bright and cheerful again, telling me not to be sorry but rather to go back and finish getting changed. As I turn to leave he calls out. "Oh Clara wait, I've got something you need for your period appropriate attire!"

I turn around to walk back over, only to almost walk into him. He smiles as he pulls something out of his vest pocket and puts it into the palm of my hand, and then closes my fingers over it, kissing my knuckles. Opening my hand, I find a beautiful ring inside. It is dark silver, almost black, with a deep purple stone set into it. The band is small, so I begin to take the ring I already have on off of my right ring finger to put it on.

"Oy, no wrong hand!" He says as he stops me, takes it back and then slips it onto my left ring finger.

"We are going to Victorian London Mrs. Smith! I won't have anyone accusing my darling wife of being a dishonest woman!"

"Mrs. Smith?" Okay, that weak voice I disliked earlier is back.

"Yes! We are Doctor and Mrs. Smith for the time being. John Smith being my super secret undercover name for stealthy investigations."

He smiles at me once more, kissing my forehead and dashes back to wherever below the console he was before I came in, calling back "Now love, you better go finish getting dressed or else we'll be late! We can't be a respectable young married couple in Victorian London if we are late for things!"

Late in a time machine, only he could manage that. A silly thought runs through my head as I walk back to finish smothering myself in layers. He might call the TARDIS 'sexy' when they were alone, but he was about to call me 'wife' in public…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read the first bit of this! And a big thanks to those who reviewed! Instead of posting this as another oneshot I figured I could group them together as a series of related oneshots.

Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and company. Harry Potter was my childhood but I do not own anything to do with it either, save my Gryffindor pride.

If you were to ask me in this very moment what accomplishments in my life I am most proud of, I would probably have to start by saying my Bachelor of Arts. That may seem like a strange reply when I am sitting outside a tea shop in Yorkshire, 1893, but it is most definitely how I feel right now. It may sometimes seem insignificant compared to everything I have done since I met the Doctor, but I just saw something that made me appreciate it far more than ever.

While sitting outside of the teashop, waiting for the Doctor, or rather my darling husband Doctor John Smith, to reemerge from inside I heard a man talking to the woman he was walking with. I don't know if she was his wife, or his sister or what, but he interrupted her in the middle of a sentence saying "Matilda, you read too much, it is putting funny ideas into your head." The woman looked so dejected, and just dropped her eyes to the cobblestones in front of them and kept walking silently.

Here I am, sitting across the street and a hundred some years away, with an Honours English degree, which I earned by reading too much and getting funny ideas. Yes, I am very proud of that right now. This sudden puffing of pride in my education makes me remember a very frightening day when I thought I wouldn't be able to graduate.

I can see the irony very easily from where I am sitting, but the truth is that I hated history in high school, and did my best to avoid it thereafter. Unfortunately, one of my required classes for university was a history class, which had a very old professor who droned on but all I heard was meh meh meh meh.

Needless to say I was not very good at paying attention in class, and my other books were always so much more interesting that I kind of neglected my readings too… I found out how bad this neglect was when we got our midterms back… I had never done so badly on anything in school, and I just cracked, tears falling down my cheek as I walked away, making a dash for a usually unoccupied part of the library to collect myself. I was Clara Oswald and I didn't let anyone see me cry.

I sat down, and suddenly a cup of tea appeared in front of me, put there by a girl with an incredibly scared look on her face. When I asked what she was doing, she blushed and told me it was because she had been behind me in line to get the midterm back, and tea was always the best remedy when someone was sad.

I don't know why, but suddenly my fear of failing the class and how horrible I had been doing all gushed out of me, how boring I found it, how pointless it seemed, how none of these dates and names meant anything to do with me, these people were far away and nothing like me. I spilled my heart out to a girl I didn't know. She sat down to listen and gave me a small smile when I finished talking, pushing the tea closer to me.

She shyly pulled out a laptop from her bag, and asked if she could try to change my mind about not being anything like the people from the past. I agreed… We then spent the afternoon going through old letters from soldiers in the First World War, diaries kept by ladies in the court of Queen Elizabeth I, pictures of graffiti on the walls of Pompeii, cook books from medieval Italy, art doodled in the margins of medical students notes from somewhere in Napoleon's France…

The afternoon passed quickly, and it was kind of amazing. When we were done she just smiled at me and said something I will never forget. "History is the most hopeful thing I have ever seen. People from a thousand years ago weren't much different from us in many ways, yet look at how different the world is now. Nothing changes in many respects, yet nothing ever stays the same."

This stranger became one of my best friends. With her enthusiasm guiding my way I got a solid mark in that history class.

I was brought out of my musings by a rather large hand being waved in front of my face.

"Oy, Clara, are you okay? I don't think you have heard a thing I've said. Have you been attacked by nargles? Clara? Hello!"

The Doctor's eyes were locked on mine and he looked genuinely worried about me. I couldn't help but laugh a little at him, though I appreciated the concern.

"I'm fine, just thinking of a friend I haven't seen in a while, hoping she is doing okay."

Clara Oswald you have done it again. The Doctor's face drops, sadness and fear shining through his eyes… It is _that_ look, again, the one where he looks like he is either scared _of_ me or scared _for_ me.

Nervously I start to turn the beautiful dark silver band currently gracing my left ring finger, admiring the facets in the purple stone. He has two cups of steaming tea in front of him, one meant for me. I reach across the table and take it, brushing my hand against his as I do so, before sipping the tea and complimenting him on his choice of venue to try and bring him back.

"Yes, very fine establishment, it smelled like one I previously visited in Victorian Cardiff which had excellent tea so I hoped this one would be just as good."

"What were you doing in Victorian Cardiff?" I can't help but ask, I mean, all of time and space, why would someone choose to go to Cardiff?

"Well… Actually… I might have been aiming for London at the time…" He mumbles looking very embarrassed and flustered, choosing now to squarely focus on the tea in front of him.

Funny coincidence, he had been aiming for London this time too, the quaint streets of London 1893 had been his exact words. Instead we had ended up in one of the major industrial sites of the North.

"Excellent work Doctor Smith. You managed to miss London by almost twice the distance this time."

"Why thank you Mrs. Smith." He says with as much dignity as he can muster. We both laugh at that. Having finished our tea we get up to continue on our way. As we walk away arm in arm, I see two ladies walk by whispering to each other and giggling. Their pace quickens when they see me looking at them.

I wish my friend could see this, _see_ how right she was, two girls from the past behaving exactly like they would be if they were from our time. Giggling and gossiping in the streets, valuing laughter and sharing something with each other much more than their modesty even in the proper atmosphere of Victorian England. I would probably appreciate it even more if I didn't know what the source of their gossip was.

"Clara, seriously are you okay?" I know that Dame Rowling thought she invented nargles as a work of fiction but they really do exist and they really do mess up your head. Of course at the time she did kind of invent them I guess, but when her works were finally translated into Cartesian, no I'm not taking any credit for it at all, they realized that nargles had existed in the Sartal System all along. They're originally from Janorax, tiny little planet, mostly purple, natives seem to be a touch colour blind, possibly because of the nargles messing with their minds or possibly because of the monochrome but they do make fantastic pies. Avoid the bananas though; they never let them ripen properly, probably because they can't discern between the yellow and green so well... Are you listening to me? Clara? Clara?"

I pull him down a bit closer. "I'm fine _dear_, honestly."

"If you insist." He says, still looking at me funny, his free hand drifting towards the pocket where his sonic screwdriver was resting.

Okay Doctor, you are not scanning me, it's time for some fun. I suddenly swipe his bowler hat from his head and run off as he yells after me and comes running. I know I won't get far; he is a foot taller than I am and can actually breathe because he isn't stuffed into a corset, but he is way too fond of silly hats and I need to get him to stop worrying about me and smile again.

As predicted, I don't make it very far before his hand snakes around my waist, pulling me close before grabbing the hat from me. I am laughing and so is he, though he tries to look upset for a moment. We just stand there, me wrapped in his arms, both laughing, probably looking quite silly. And by silly I mean like a perfectly normal, young, recently married couple who are completely enamored with each other.

Remember when I said that I knew what the source of the gossip for those two girls were? Yeah, that would be us…

We've been staying at a little inn. The moment we stepped out of the TARDIS there were hysteric screams, such a good sign. Although we ran off to see what was going on, by the time we got to where the Doctor said the screams originated from there were a bunch of uniformed men in line telling people to move along.

I've got a bad feeling it was my fault we didn't make it, as I said I can't really run very fast in this contraption. The Doctor never blamed me though. It isn't like him to stay put, but he thinks that if we wait whatever the trouble is will turn up again. The aforementioned inn is where the ladies who walked by work as maids. Maids who do things such as change the guest's sheets every morning and who roam the halls at night cleaning the floors.

Out in public we present the perfect picture of a married couple, most of the time without trying. Obviously though, the maids aren't finding… _Other_ signs of our affections though... Because _that_ is not happening, because none of _this_ is real, which is something even I have to remind myself of several times a day. The acting is too easy, probably because most of it isn't acting for me at least. I'm too comfortable with the little touches, lingering stares and sweet gestures. I shouldn't be. I really shouldn't be at all.

Those decidedly unruffled sheets and the silence emanating from our room at night which makes the maids giggle and wonder what on earth is wrong with us are what I need to remember. I sleep in the bed; he sleeps on the tiny couch, when he sleeps at all. That is reality.

The end of our embrace and the warm smile we share feels pretty real though. I straighten that ridiculous hat of his before he offers me his arm again and we set off. We don't get far though before we hear screams from the general direction of the bridge down the road. The Doctor gives me a look of pure excitement, before shifting his arm so he is now holding my hand as we race off as fast as I can manage to the sounds of horror.

When we arrive on the scene, there is a very desperate sounding man being pulled away by some police officers.

"Look look its another one. See! Why won't any one of you listen!?"

"We'll listen." The Doctor says, having dropped the giddy look and now standing fully upright, casting an air of confidence. Someone means business right now, down boy.

Here we go again. My very kind friend was right in more ways than she knew. No time period is different for the Doctor. There is always someone who needs help, and he is always there to listen to them.


	3. Chapter 3

I've had a lot of trouble sleeping lately, and being stuck inside of this creepy gated factory community is certainly not helping my cause one bit. When I actually manage to coax my mind into slumber, I am plagued by nightmares of endless corridors, burnt zombie creatures and falling through nothingness. I didn't need to add the sheer creepiness that is Sweetville to my problems.

Why might one consider Sweetville creepy? Well, firstly there is the proud proprietor of the operation to consider. Mrs. Winifred Gillyflower, prize winning chemist and engineer, a woman with a myriad of questions surrounding here current actions.

Why has such a woman decided to open up a match factory in her old home town? Why has she created a community within her factory's confines which only accepts 'the brightest and the best?' Why do those who come to live in said 'paradise' never come out, or even get heard from again? And what does Sweetville have to do with the stiff red bodies that keep appearing in the river?

Seeking answers to all of these questions, the Doctor and I have joined the ranks of Sweetville's inhabitants. We've only been here for two days, and my skin has been crawling from the moment we walked through the gates. I hardly slept at all last night and right now it looks like that is going to be how this night ends as well.

The Doctor is reading over by the window, his lanky frame squished into a rather small chair, one leg raised with the foot resting on the window's ledge. He has a small lamp sitting on the window sill which he is using to read his book; the light isn't bright enough for me to make out what he is reading. It is hard to tell with the endless noises of the factory, but I think he is humming something quietly.

I try to focus on the small, flickering flame in the lamp instead of the images in my mind of the wide eyes of horror that that poor reddened woman had, and try to replace the frightening voice of Mrs. Gillyflower with the quiet tune the Doctor is humming.

A couple hours, well I think it is a couple hours later, I jolt awake from my nightmare to an empty and dark room. For a moment I don't remember where I am. Panic sets in much quicker than I would like it to. The Doctor is nowhere to be seen and the light had gone out. Taking a deep breath I try to calm myself down and think.

The Doctor had done something to the door, telling me that the lock was now calibrated so that only his sonic screwdriver could open it. As such he couldn't have been taken out of this room against his will. This is a good thing to remember. But why would he leave here, leave me?

Shaking my head at the last thought, the unspoken fear that if I do something wrong the Doctor will leave me; I slowly get out of the bed. I need to know where he is. I already know I won't get back to sleep in here on my own, so there is no point in sitting around and waiting for him to come back. I am not a girl of waiting; if something needs doing, I do it. Besides, while he may not have left the room under duress, there is no guarantee he is safe anywhere outside of these small walls. If he needs rescuing, the TARDIS won't be doing it this time. I grab his jacket from the hook by the door and pull it on as I try to leave the room as quietly as I can.

Padding out into the hallway my heart falls as the door makes a very loud creaking noise when I shut it behind me. We are not alone in this building, there are five other married couples on this floor alone and the last thing I need is to attract any more attention to the two of us by wandering the place at night. Maybe closing the door was also a bad plan because now I am stuck outside… I _have_ to find the Doctor now.

Walking quietly down the hallway I see a small ladder which I've never noticed before near the end of the hall by a window. My best guess says that it was just recently pulled down and must lead to the attic, considering that we are on the top floor of the building. The Doctor loves being able to see the sky at night, because of the stars I think. It would make sense for him to want to get up higher to have a better look right? I hope so; because that is the logic I am following as I climb the ladder up into the darkness.

I immediately notice that it is much colder up here and draughty too. I look around to see that there are two large windows at either end of the room. One of them has been pushed wide open and seems to have a little balcony jutting out from it, which has another ladder leading up to the roof. Keeping to my star theory, I keep climbing upwards.

"Whooo, whoo, whooo!" I hear as I get closer to the top. "Whoooo, whoooo, whoooo!"

As I pull myself onto the roof, I first notice the source of the noises. There is a beautiful owl perched on a rail at the other side of the roof.

"Do it again, please?" The Doctor's voice pleads. He is talking to the owl… I can't say I am really that surprised…

"Whooooo, whooo!"

The Doctor is laughing quietly, sitting on the roof, his knees close to his face and his arms resting across them. I can't see his face but going by his tone of voice I would say he is smiling right now.

"No one ever understands why I enjoy that so much, but you don't really care do you?" He asks the owl.

"Whooo, whooo, whooo!" The owl hoots one final time before taking off.

"Oy, no! Come back, I was enjoying this little chat!" The Doctor calls after it as it flies away.

This has me thinking back to the first day I met him, when he was dressed as a monk and covered in paint. When I had asked him 'Doctor Who?' he had gotten this ridiculous smile, asked me to repeat myself and thanked me in a tone of voice so reverent I had been convinced that he really was some sort of whacko monk for a few minutes.

I can't help myself… "Doctor Who?" I ask him. I know he won't answer me, but I would really like to know. Sometimes when I am not having nightmares I dream that I know the answer to that question.

He jumps up from where he was sitting; taking some sort of stance that would not look out of place in a cheap kung fu movie as his eyes sweep across the roof.

"Clara! It is 12:07am, which means no internet in Cumbria and that humans are supposed to be in bed sleeping. What are you doing up here?" He asks when he sees me and puts his formerly raised foot back down on the ground, which I am thankful for. He has issues coordinating limbs sometimes and the last thing I need is for him to fall off of this roof. Falling is bad. I dream about falling a lot now, and I don't like it.

"Rescuing you from the Crimson Horror of course, the TARDIS isn't here now, it's all on me. I kind of panicked when I woke up and you were gone." I tell him as I walk towards him, clutching his jacket even closer as the wind picks up. "What are you doing up here anyways?" I ask, now standing right next to him.

"Well the irony of this all is that I was actually trying to keep you from waking up." He tells me as he runs a hand through his hair.

"I heard something making a lot of noise above us, which I figured would wake you up, so I left to check it out. The cause of the commotion as it turned out was not a loose Snarglepuff, but rather that owl who just left us. Seems she had flown in through the window but managed to knock it closed in the process so she was stuck and rather unhappy about that. I let her out of course, but I couldn't resist seeing where that ladder went, and when she landed up here and started asking me 'who' well… I ended up sitting down for a chat and kind of lost track of time. I'm sorry I worried you Clara, I wouldn't have left you without good reason, and without the intent to come back, I promise." He finishes, pulling me into a hug.

I smile into his shoulder.

"Where did you find such an excellent jacket? I'm going to have to get the name of your tailor." He says, with a smirk on his face as the hug ends.

"This old thing? Found it laying about by the door, I thought whoever owned it was tossing it." I say with an eyebrow raised.

"No absolutely not!" He exclaims, seemingly very concerned for the wellbeing of his jacket.

"Looks better on you anyways." I tell him as I grin and go to hand it back.

"You need that more than I do right now Mrs. Smith. Now let's get you back to bed ey?"

"There is such a thing as too keen Doctor Smith." That should get a blush out of him, but I don't think he heard a word of it because just as I start talking a window breaks in another building and steam starts pouring out of it.

"We need to get off the roof, whatever that was will probably bring people outside, and I want to keep a low profile." The Doctor says as he takes my hand and urges me towards the ladder.

He starts to climb down it, and looks back up at me expectedly to follow.

"I'm wearing a night dress." I remind him.

"Oh, um, yes… Eyes front." It is hard to tell since he is several feet below me now and it is dark, but he seems to be lost again. Doctor, what is wrong and what aren't you telling me? I was honestly more worried about him accidentally giving himself a heart attack and falling off the ladder if he looked up than I was about my modesty.

When he is inside the window I quickly follow, he lets me go down the attic ladder first before taking my hand and leading me back to our room, which he unlocks with the sonic screwdriver. Once the door is firmly locked behind us, we both let out a sigh of relief I don't think we knew we were holding in. It is an odd feeling, we are vulnerable here and we both know it. No TARDIS to run to if we get into trouble; we don't really have a way out.

The Doctor picked up his tiny lamp and has lights it again. He then walks back over to me and helps me out of his jacket. "You my dear need to try and get some more sleep now."

"Unlikely." I mumble to myself, thoughts now returning to the images of scarlet corpses, the spine shivering voice of Mrs. Gillyflower and the blank emotionless faces of her hench-people.

"Clara, are you okay?" The Doctor asks, putting his hands on my shoulder and looking at me as I try and avoid his eyes.

"Clara, hey, what's wrong?"

I swallow, holding in a tear, I am Clara Oswald and I do not let people see me cry.

"Just having some bad dreams recently." I say quickly. "And I kind of find this place rather unsettling, especially when you aren't here." I didn't mean to add that last bit. I didn't mean to, oh Clara…

The Doctor smiles softly at me and kisses my forehead. "Braveheart Clara, this place terrifies me and I am very glad I am not doing this alone." He says quietly. He kicks off his boots and takes off his vest, moves his lamp and book over to the nightstand next to the bed before getting into it and patting the space next to him. I get in and he gently pulls me closer so that my head is resting on his chest.

"I'm not going anywhere, not without you." He says, wrapping his arm around me and picking up his book with his other hand, which I now see is Charles Dickens's _Oliver Twist_.

I'm taken back a bit by how… intimate… this feels. I should object, even just a little, assert that I am fine, but this just feels too right. Instead of protesting I snuggle in a little closer, putting my arm on his chest. I doze off to the sound of two beating hearts, and the same little tune he had been humming earlier.

When I wake up, there is sunlight just peeking in through the window. _Oliver Twist _is sitting on the nightstand and the lamp has long since gone cold. But the Doctor hasn't gone anywhere; he is asleep with me still tucked into his side. He has guarded me all night, and hasn't moved from his spot.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much to my reviewers, I appreciate you taking the time to comment! I'm not sure how long this will end up being, and I think further chapter will be more interrelated. I intend to keep going until I run out of real estate to work with from **_**The Crimson Horror**_**. Hopefully I will be able to update every few days. I'm sorry I didn't entirely know where I was going when I started this but hopefully I am on track now!**

**Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends.**

I'd always figured that my domestic skill set was fairly well rounded. When I lost my Mum, I picked up a lot of her jobs around the house for my Dad. He was so grief stricken, not that I wasn't too, but I wanted to try and help him. As I have said, we all deal with loss differently. Once I was off at university I fended for myself quite well, and now I am looking after the Maitland household mostly on my own when I'm not with the Doctor.

I can cook pretty well, if we don't count soufflés, I have never been able to make Mum's soufflé without her, not that that has stopped me from trying. Someday I will be soufflé girl. I am good with laundry and ironing, dishes, cleaning. Yeah, I thought that I, Clara Oswald, was pretty well equipped. I have just now discovered however that I am majorly lacking in one skill set, that being the sewing.

Sweetville is being drenched in rain today, and I was invited by some of the other ladies to a quilting bee. I haven't been any help at all though… While I can certainly stitch on a loose button or patch the knee of a ripped pair of jeans, I do not have anywhere _near_ the amount of talent that these women have. Luckily one of the ladies my age, Ellie, has been rather nice and offered a chair near her to work. She arrived into the Sweetville community the day after the Doctor and I, with her husband David.

"Watch me; you seem quite smart, I'm sure you'll be able to pick it up quickly." She tells me with a smile.

As the morning progresses and the rain continues to fall though, the only thing I have picked is my own finger, several times, with a needle… Eventually I opt to just watch, and thread needles for Ellie, which brings out some rather disapproving glares from one woman whose name I don't know.

She has been going on about how she exemplifies the whole 'best and brightest' thing that Mrs. Gillyflower keeps going on about in her recruitment drives. She seems to assume we all know who she is, and hasn't bothered to introduce herself.

"So Mrs. Smith, what _do_ you do in your leisure time, you do have leisure time yes? I thought you were married to a _Doctor_ after all." She asks.

"I read mostly." It is the truth. I just happen to have read a lot of books that do not exist yet... Here is hoping I can remember the gist of some of the older classic novels if she asks what exactly I read…

"Well that is hardly useful." She replies haughtily. "What did you do before you met Mr. Smith?"

"Doctor Smith." I correct her. Honestly, she just pointed out that he was a Doctor; we both know she can't have forgotten. She was just being rude.

"I worked as a governess for a family in London. They were friends of my family, and Mrs. Maitland passed away when her children were rather young." I had to catch myself before I said 'nanny' instead of 'governess.' The Doctor had called me a governess the first day he met me…

"But you have obviously left that position now that you are married?" She prods. "You are keeping your _husband's_ house now?"

I don't know what she is after here, but I have a bad feeling I probably don't want to know either.

"I have begun to travel with him so I can help him properly attend his practice yes."

I wish I could tell her that his or rather our 'practice' includes all of the species in the universe, and some outside of it too. I wish I could say that to 'properly attend it' we travel through all of history and space.

"Well that is good at least, since you don't seem to be doing your other _duty_ to him as a wife very well."

I turn my head to level a glare at her. Did we _actually_ just go there? Did I _actually_ just get called a prude in _Victorian Yorkshire_?

"I don't know what you are insinuating, but I am offended by your tone." This fake accent I am trying to hold is getting harder, I don't know if I am attempting to contain my fury or let it out, but I can't let myself speak as normal. I can't blow our ruse on account of my pride. Why does this hurt my pride anyways?

"I am insinuating Mrs. Smith, that you for some reason value your modesty more than your _duty_ to your husband. I share the room below you, and even though your lights are often still lit late into the night it is rather quiet up there."

Oh my stars. Gossiping maids and now this. Honestly. At least the maids looked embarrassed when I caught them at it and never said anything to my face. Did I mention that this was _Victorian Yorkshire_? Why is everyone on about this? There are better things to do. For example, you could be worrying about the red bodies washing up in the river instead of your neighbour's love life next door!

"Maybe it is the books? Spend too much time with them, maybe they make your husband uncomfortable? It sounds like you only got your governess job as a favour to your family but if you have _Doctor_ Smith now you don't have to worry about finding suitable employment now do you?"

"Clara?" Whatever I was about to say to her is interrupted by the Doctor opening the door.

Biting back all of the things I would like to say to her I instead turn to the Doctor.

"Perfect timing _darling_, its time for us to go for our walk now isn't it?" I say, fighting to keep my accent flowing and my voice level. I keep the accent, as for the voice, the Doctor is now looking at me with wide eyes, knowing something has gotten my ire up.

"Yes?" He replies, with a questioning look on his face. Thank you Doctor, Your voice of assurance is much appreciated.

"Its pouring out there, you'll get soaked." My new not friend informs me.

"Fresh air is very good for you, I should know, I am _married_ _to a Doctor_." I say adamantly, flashing the dark silver ring on my left hand. "And luckily, some smart chap invented the umbrella a ways back, they keep you dry in the rain, you hold them over your head. Maybe you haven't read about them?" I tell her, before grabbing one from the doorway, tossing it roughly to the Doctor who catches it offhandedly before I grab his elbow and drag him from the room.

I feel bad about that because he looks so very confused right now… Once we get out of the building I let him go and reach for the umbrella.

Instead of handing it to me the Doctor opens the umbrella and holds it over us both.

"It's okay love, I've got it. I'm a bit taller than you, wouldn't want you to strain your arm and I don't want to hit my head either." He says smiling at me.

As we walk away, me holding his other arm I feel really bad about pulling him out of there, and for making a bit of a scene. But she insulted me, then she insulted my Doctor and then she had another go at me… Wait, my Doctor?

"I'm sorry." I say quietly to the Doctor, in my real voice, keeping my eyes on the cobbled walkway in front of us, avoiding puddles as best I can. Whoever laid the ground here didn't use a level…

"I'm sorry something upset you that much." He replies, twirling the umbrella a bit, which sends little jets of water streaming off around us. He doesn't push me to tell him what happened. The Doctor is good at knowing when to push and when to leave me. I know I could tell him if I wanted to and he would listen, but there are more important things to discuss right now.

"Did you have any luck?" While I got whisked away, he had snuck off unnoticed to look around the factory.

"Well I think I found the place where they are keeping whatever it is that they don't want us to find." He says. "Locked up tight, with the 'supermodels' as you put it doing patrols everywhere. May as well put a big sign on it saying 'there is something important in here and we are guarding it.' The sonic can get us in, but I didn't want to do anything without you."

"Have you ever seen any kids in here?" I ask him. It seems like an odd question, but it has been bothering me for a couple days. We have been here nearly a week and I haven't seen one family, or one child.

"No." He says thoughtfully. "In fact there haven't been any have there?" He turns to ask me.

"Nope."

"Good point Clara. That is something to think about." He says, sounding impressed.

Before I can say anything more, we are interrupted by a distressed sounding 'oh no' from ahead of us and we see an umbrella fall from a small balcony attached to Mrs. Gillyflower's apartments. Aida, Mrs. Gillyflower's daughter is kneeling by the balcony's railing, searching the ground for her lost umbrella.

"It's no use looking up there Aida, we'll get it for you, it fell down here!" I shout, accent intact, to her as the Doctor hands me our umbrella and chases down the stray before it can blow away.

Aida looks shocked and scared.

"Just give us a moment!" I call to her. The Doctor has caught the runaway umbrella, and now is contemplating how to return it to her. He is looking at the balcony; it is only about seven feet high at the base. Doctor, this is a bad idea…

Before I can protest he leaps up, grabs a hold of the bottom of the railing and manages to pull himself up and swings over the railing. I am shocked by the feat of athleticism. Aida is shocked by the sudden sounds and cringes away. Looking at her makes me sad. Not because she is blind, but because she is so very afraid, and because I hate the way Mrs. Gillyflower treats her. Mums are supposed to care for their children... Mrs. Gillyflower trots Aida around at her recruitment drives like a show animal.

"Hey now, it's alright!" The Doctor says in his fake accent as he walks towards her. "Can I please give this back to you?"

She nods, he gently takes her hand and puts the umbrella back into it.

"Thank you ever so much sir." She says to him, still looking scared. "Might I ask your names?"

"John Smith, Doctor John Smith, and this is my wife Clara, Mrs. Smith." The Doctor says.

"You have been very kind Doctor Smith, but I must ask you to get off of the balcony, Mama will be very angry if anyone is up here."

"Not a problem!" The Doctor says to her. Aida hurries back inside, as the Doctor swings a leg over the rail and sits on it.

He is going to jump; this is a bad plan, in my mind I see him falling, much farther than the small drop… But once again I don't have enough time to protest before he pushes himself off of the railing, botches the landing and ends up in a heap on the ground in a puddle…

"Nothing broken, it's all good!" He says, springing up as I try and help him.

"Doctor, you are absolutely soaked."

"It would appear so yes." He says, squeezing water from his bowtie.

"You're going to have to take those clothes off." I say, hoping this will lighten the mood. It does exactly the opposite though; he looks at me, like he is scared. Doctor, what about me is frightening? I don't understand, and I want to so badly. Before I can say anything, he takes our umbrella back and offers me his arm again.

"You know Mrs. Smith; I have been told that there is such a thing as too keen." He says, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I am stuck staring at him. I am supposed to have a witty remark to add to that I think. Where did my voice go?

"Usually that is your job Doctor Smith."

"I'm open to sharing the position."

"I'll have to try and shoulder some of the burden then."

"I'm glad you're feeling better." He says, smiling down at me and twirling the umbrella again.

"I'm glad you are too." I reply. That might be the first time I have said to his face that I notice his moments of not being okay. I am still trying to figure out what emotion it is exactly, but no okay describes it well enough for now.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Another big thanks to those who reviewed! And thanks to those who have read this far too!**

**Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends. I also own nothing of Charles Dickens. **

"The most important thing in life is to stop saying 'I wish' and start saying 'I will.' Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as proba-"

The Doctor's voice cuts out as our window is blown open, letting in a torrent of rain. He quickly jumps from the bed to shut the now flapping window.

Two days after rescuing Aida's runaway umbrella the rain is still falling at Sweetville. If anything it is falling harder than ever. The warmth of the factory and the cold of the rain have smothered the place in fog. It was already creepy, horror movie fog _really_ wasn't necessary…

"Probabilities." He says as wrestles the window closed and locks it tight. "Treat possibilities as probabilities."

He gracefully (by his standards) slides back into the bed and reaches an arm back around me to reassume our usual sleeping positions, before opening _David Copperfield_ to continue reading.

Yes I said 'usual' positions in reference to me being tucked into him. Yes, I am supposed to be protesting that. It's on my to-do list, really, it definitely is. There are more important things to worry about right now, such as why Mrs. Gillyflower's reflection was in a dead woman's eyes, and why there are no children to be found in Sweetville.

I have an inkling about the later, but I don't really want to think about it. The Doctor may be doing a fair job of preventing nightmares somehow, but some of these images are no more pleasant in my waking mind than in my dreams…

As the Doctor pauses to turn the page I up to look at him.

"Not saying that I mind, but is there a reason why we seem to be going through the entirety of Charles Dickens' works?" I ask. He has finished _Oliver Twist_, _The Old Curiosity Shop_, _A Tale of Two Cities_ and has been reading _Copperfield_ to me out loud to me as I fall asleep the last couple nights.

"Remember when I said I was aiming for London and ended up in Cardiff?"

"Yes."

"I met old Charlie Boy, I have been meaning to reread his stuff again ever since but never managed to find the time. I'm a big fan of his."

The Doctor not being able to find time… That is almost as good as late in a Time Machine… Thinking about the TARDIS reminds me of the day he came back, asking me to go with him. He had been reading that day, wearing round glasses that didn't seem to fit quite right. Despite all his reading over the last bit I have not seen those glasses again.

Speaking of what I haven't seen in a while… Children… No… Clara Oswald stop it…

"Clara?" The Doctor has put the book aside and is looking at me.

"Hmm?"

"Please tell me whatever it is that is bothering you."

"Why do you think something is wrong?"

"Because normally your rather inconsiderable weight would mostly be draped on me at this point, one of your arms would be in the middle of my sternum so you could feel my hearts beating and you'd be nodding off. Instead your back is all tense, your hand is in a fist at your side and you keep staring blankly out the window, shaking your head a touch like you are trying to get something out of it. I have tried that a lot myself but it never worked, thoughts just stay in there until we let them out or forget about them. And forgetting takes a long time, sometimes an impossibly long time and it is usually better to remember anyways."

I am not sure if the last bit is for my benefit or his…

"Why don't you think there are any children in Sweetville Doctor?" My voice is so quiet for a moment I don't think he heard me.

"Because I don't think Mrs. Gillyflower's main goal is to kill people. There are too many disappearances and not enough bodies. I think that those who die are accidental deaths for the most part, she wants people for something. She is doing something to them… on a molecular level. I don't think she has any children because… they would have worse odds of… _surviving_ whatever she is doing…" He trails off, checking my face as if to make sure I am okay.

"So when she says 'best and brightest' she actually means 'fittest with the best chance to survive?'"

"Yes." He says simply, idly playing with a bit of my hair. I really should stop this.

"Right."

Usually our silences aren't awkward, but this one is.

"I'm sorry Clara."

"Don't be. Remember what you said at Akhaten?"

"I said a lot of things at Akhaten."

"We don't walk away." I say to him, before putting my hand up to the spot where I can feel both his hearts beating. Clever boy. Of course you would notice that…

We wake up the next morning to find two surprises. Firstly, the sun is shining and the fog is slowly dissipating in the morning light. Secondly, there is a letter sitting on our floor.

The letter is from Mrs. Gillyflower, saying she has heard of a kind Doctor and his wife who recently joined Sweetville. She wants to meet us.

My first thought is that Aida must have mentioned something to her mother, which the Doctor echoes.

I have a really bad feeling about this. That woman terrifies me. I'm not sure I can stand in the same room as her, but we have been waiting for a breakthrough of some kind and this is it. I am a girl who can, I will do this.

As I head behind the screen to begin the overly long process of getting dressed for the day, the Doctor sits down at the desk in our room. I can hear him begin to write as I struggle into my first layers.

"I'm going to let some friends know where we are. I should have done it ages ago, before we came in here really, but I wanted to keep them out of it if at all possible."

"Why? Too dangerous for them?"

"No not really… I haven't seen them in… A while… They sort of run their own private detective operation, and they ask a lot of questions, so I thought it would be best to keep them out of this."

Okay, little lost here. If we have investigators on our side and we are trying to uncover a mystery why have we not enlisted their help? The Doctor called these people his friends, he doesn't do that lightly.

_Friends, well, people who aren't trying to kill us so I don't need punching! _The Doctor's voice echoes as my head suddenly feels like it is being split apart and I fall back against the wall.

"Hey, you okay?" The Doctor calls. "Do you need help? Your wellbeing is more important than your modesty Clara Oswald!" I hear his chair move out meaning he must have stood up.

"No I'm fine!" I say, holding my head. Not fine! Part of me yells. What did I hear before I hit the wall? I can't remember… That's weird… Really weird…

The Doctor continues his letter and I finish getting dressed. We swap spots, me sitting at the desk admiring his handwriting in the incomplete letter while he steps behind the screen.

"Ready to meet the neighbours Mrs. Smith?" He asks, coming from behind the cover doing up the last button of his shirt and adding his bowtie.

"No. But I am going anyways." Did I say that? I'm meant to just say 'yes.'

"Braveheart Clara."

There are no pickled eyes in Mrs. Gillyflower's study, not even any scientific instruments. I could be lulled into the feeling that this is just a normal, if pretentious room. Which it might be, but the lady whom it belongs to is anything but normal.

Mrs. Gillyflower's butler, one of the supermodels, has shown us in, and now we are face to face with the woman herself for the first time.

"Doctor and Mrs. Smith. Ohhh ho ho, yes, you'll do very nicely."

"Ohh, grand, smashing, ey? The Misses and I couldn't be more chuffed could we love?"

Mrs. Gillyflower looks thrilled with the two of us and after a few more passing niceties including how long we have been married, where we're from, and how awful the weather had been, she asks us to take a walk around the grounds with her.

The Doctor and I follow behind her, listening to every word she says, looking for hidden meanings and clues to the mystery of Sweetville.

After a while I pipe in and ask. "What if we have occasion to leave Sweetville, such as to post a letter to our families, having just so recently been married I expect my Father is still anxious as to my wellbeing. I would be remiss to forget him."

"Sweetville will provide you with everything you need. You won't have to worry about a thing ever again."

That doesn't answer my question at all. And I don't like the sound of 'not worrying,' worrying means caring about things and caring is important. I would never choose not to feel. I may chose not to _show_ how I feel sometimes but that is different.

I continue on with my list of what I hope seem like innocent enough questions.

"The name, Sweetville, why not name it after yourself? After all, it's your creation."

"Gillyflower Town. Ey? Gillyflowerland! You could have rollercoasters!"

Yes Doctor, rollercoasters, she didn't think you were mad enough already.

"It is named in tribute to my partner."

"Your late partner?" The Doctor's tone softens when he says 'late.'

"No, my… silent partner. Mister Sweet likes to keep himself to himself. Shall we move on?"

We stop in front of one of the cottages.

"Who lives here?" The Doctor asks. A look appears on her face I do not like. Not one bit.

"Oh ho names don't matter here. All you need to know is we only recruit the brightest and the best."

She touches my face when she says 'brightest' and it is all I can do not to recoil.

The Doctor and I share a look as she moves to open the door. All I can think of is our conversation last night where we agreed that 'brightest and best' is code for 'fittest with the best chance to survive.'

The door opens, and I am horrified as I see two people encased in glass, which is being pumped full of something by a hose. Their faces are frozen, like wax models. I pull the Doctor closer as we are surrounded by the expressionless supermodels that seem to be at the mercy of Mrs. Gillyflower's will.

The Doctor tries to put himself between me and them. Mrs. Gillyflower laughs, throwing something at our feet. It hisses what I assume is colourless gas and I feel myself losing consciousness. The Doctor and I fall in a heap together, and the last thing I can remember as I slip away into the darkness is him squeezing my hand.

From that moment on, I am between consciousness, nightmares and hallucinations. Sometimes it's hard to tell which is which because reality never seems to be better than the nightmares and it is strange enough not to be real at all.

I am fighting to try and open my eyes as I felt myself suspended in the air, hanging on something. I have no strength at all, and then to my horror I feel myself being lowered. It isn't falling but it is enough to make me panic. I lose myself again just as my toes slip into something which is wet and gooey, and for a moment I think I am about to be drowned.

I am looking through glassy eyes, not seeing properly, not able to turn my head, vaguely aware that I am standing with other people. Mrs. Gillyflower's voice rings out distantly.

"Like pretty maids all in a row. The process improves with every attempt. Mr. Sweet is such a clever old thing! Ohhhh, into the canal with the rejects Aida!"

Rejects? I see a fiery red hand thrust into the air from the direction I think Mrs. Gillyflower's voice was directed, I can't move my head, but a flop of brown hair jerks into my view. It's the Doctor. No… I have to save him, I have to move! Come on! I try and exert whatever strength I have left, but instead of taking control of my limbs I black out.

When next I have some semblance on what is happening, I'm in a sitting position and all I can hear is the sound of one of those pumps. I can't turn my head to see anything, I can't even move my eyes. I think there is a glass casing in front of me. It is hard to tell because my eyes can't quite focus. Outside the window there is a chimney, a chimney that doesn't blow smoke. This is all I can see in tiny fractions of time for I don't know how long.

My moments of awareness seem to be growing shorter, though I have no way of knowing. I need to find the Doctor. He wasn't dead! He was red but not gone. If he was thrown into the canal though… No, Clara he didn't drown. You are going to keep yourself together, and you are going to find him.

I am brought momentarily to my senses by the sound of the door in front of me slamming open. I have enough wits left to be scared before the person who thrust it open comes into view… It's the Doctor. He did say he would never leave me without the intent to come back… We don't walk away after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The only part of Doctor Who I own is my unabashed love of it. The rest belongs to the BBC and friends.**

I was genuinely concerned that the TARDIS would have a fit once we got back to her. She is, shall we say _temperamental_ at the best of times as far as I am concerned, and after being left alone for so long _and_ hearing the Doctor call me both 'darling wife' and 'the boss' I figured she and I would be on another collision course for trouble. But maybe sticking with her spaceman and helping him return to her safely has garnered me some points in her books, for now at least.

The reason that I think we may currently have a truce would be because I found my lovely, easy to get on and off, machine washable clothes sitting exactly where I left them in the TARDIS wardrobe. This is absolutely _fantastic_ as far as I am concerned, because I want out of these Victorian clothes. No, I _really_ want out of these clothes. I want to shower and get the feeling of being a wax doll off of my skin. I want to be able to snatch whatever silly hat the Doctor wears next from his head, and make him have to run to catch me. I want to be able to walk in the rain, without a worry about how long velvet takes to dry. I want to enjoy the sun and not bake under layers in the heat. I want to wear my own pajamas and fall asleep listening to the Doctor read me something other than Charles Dickens' and just stay in bed for a week.

Actually, scrap that last bit. I no longer have Sweetville's seemingly endless mysteries to worry about, which means that my excuse, or rather my _very_ _valid reason_ of having more important things on my to-do list than protest the sleeping arrangements the Doctor and I have had for the last while doesn't really work anymore.

After Aida… took care… of Mr. Sweet, the Doctor spent the rest of the night working at a feverish pace, concocting an antidote to the poison. Mrs. Gillyflower's notes and extensive lab facility were a huge help in this process. Using those pod things wasn't a viable way to restore everyone the way we were. Too many people, not enough pods. I stayed with him all night and it was kind of amazing to watch him work. I helped where I could, passing this flask of blue fizzy stuff and that empty test tube and not that one but the other beaker of boiling red goo.

This wasn't him tinkering with the TARDIS, that seems to be an endless sort of game without a goal. This time the Doctor had a set problem and he was going to work it out. The extent of his concentration and sheer determination was almost unnerving, although it paled in comparison to the dark expression he'd had when I told him that I had been aware of what was happening for moments while I had been under the influence of 'the process.' As I have said, sometimes he is mistakable for a giddy child, and sometimes he is a terrifying otherworldly force...

He somehow deduced a way to reverse the effects of Mr. Sweet's poison, and added something which he said would help cloud people's memories of it, in case I wasn't the only one who was aware of what had happened to me. The whole thing should be chalked up historically to a bad industrial accident I think.

The following morning, I saw something which made me forget all of the shivers that ran down my spine, every moment of panic and each hour of lost sleep. Just before the Doctor and I left, the kind girl who tried to help me at the quilting bee staggered wearily out of the Sweetville gates. She found her husband, threw herself into his arms, and then they kissed each other fiercely right there on the street. Victorian values be damned, they were safe, they were together again and they loved each other, that all matters so much more than modesty.

The Doctor had watched me watch them, with his look of quiet happiness. I only ever see that look when things that have gone wrong (which happens more often than not it would seem) finally go right again. It's not his dashing about face that happens when he finds something out of place. It is a glow; it is genuine and usually unspoken, just a shared look between us before we disappear into the shadows again, knowing to leave well enough alone.

I shrug my cardigan over my shoulders after finishing my shower and take an easy, deep breath, just enjoying the scent of clean. I can actually say an easy breath and mean it. Actually properly easy, not just easier.

The prospect of returning to the Maitland's feels rather odd right now. The Doctor and I have never spent this long together. Usually our adventures only last a couple of days at best, excluding the mess with the HADS which resulted in a submarine ride from one pole to the other... But right now I don't really want to say goodbye… Oddly enough, I think this adventure was the one where I saw the most alien thing yet, despite us being firmly planted on earth.

No, I don't mean Madam Vastra, although I fully admit it is a lot to swallow that humanoid lizards once ruled earth and are now living dormant underground waiting to ascend again... I also don't mean the odd little potato that kept calling me 'boy.' Nope, the thing that felt the more alien to me than anything from space was the relationship between Mrs. Gillyflower and her daughter. It easily disturbed me more than anything I have seen with the Doctor. It was cold, exploitive and cruel, everything I would never _ever_ think of when it came to me and Mum.

Aida's look changed so much in the short time I saw her after Mrs. Gillyflower had died. The fear on her face seemed to have set itself to a steeled resolve. The idea that she is better off now, without her mother makes my heart ache, because that should be _wrong_, there is still not a day I don't miss my Mum. I take our book into the TARDIS every time I leave on a new adventure, to an endless and one places to see.

I have heard the Doctor make offhanded comments about feelings being 'humany wumany,' which I think he means as a compliment to us all. I am Clara Oswald and I am human. I am alive, I hope, I love, I lose, I feel. Nothing will ever take that away from me. Ever. I don't wear my heart on my sleeves, but that doesn't mean I don't have one.

I think the Doctor is more human than he knows, not like biologically speaking, but emotionally. He feels too, he just spends a lot of time trying to forget it or to hide it. But if I can steal his words, some things take an impossibly long time to forget, and you are better off remembering them anyways.

Speaking of Doctor Smith, I should probably go find him before he gets worried that his TARDIS has eaten me, which might actually be a more valid concern than I would like to admit…

* * *

A few minutes later I find the Doctor, who is also sporting a clean change of clothes, in the console room wiping down one of the panels happily, grinning up at me when he sees me come in. When I get closer, his expression softens a bit. "You've left a bit of your Victorian attire on." He says.

I'm rather confused for a moment. That ensemble is hard to forget about, I can't really wear one bit without another… I haven't got a clue what he is talking about…

"The ring." He says quietly.

I hadn't even thought about that… When I got out of the shower and put my jewelry back on, that dark silver ring just went back onto my left hand. Force of habit after doing it for a while I should think. And by should think I mean definitely do think.

"Oh!" Is the best I can manage, before I slowly slide it off of my finger. I'm not sure what to do with it, for all I know it belonged to Queen Elizabeth VII or maybe Cleopatra or is made from the last silver from the Lost Moon of Poosh or…or… something. It came from the Doctor after all, and I don't know if he wants it back or..?

"Clara."

"Yeah?"

"Pass it here for a minute please?"

He holds out his hand and I place it into his palm. He then takes out the sonic screwdriver, and points it at the ring, which resonates visibly for a second before stilling again, the band seeming to have grown a bit thinner and a bit bigger around. The Doctor pockets the sonic, and then slips the ring back onto my left hand, on my middle finger this time, before grabbing his rag again and dashing around the console, polishing random levers and knobs.

"Where to?" He calls over to me as he goes. "Did you want to go home for a bit now?" His enthusiasm wanes when he asks if I want to leave.

The Doctor often calls the Maitland house my home, which I suppose is correct in the sense that that is where I live, but I still can't really call it home. It doesn't have that sense of permanency a home needs to have even though I've been there for quite a while now.

When I don't reply right away, mulling over what exactly I want to say, he gets his look of apprehension. As the seconds tick away he crosses his arms and starts moving a bit side to side as if getting a different view of my face will improve the situation. Impatient Doctor, how did you manage all that time in Yorkshire, the first bit of it without even having a known problem to chase?

"Villenguard." I finally say, also crossing my arms and looking him straight in the face. I am the boss.

"Villenguard?" He repeats, looking very confused.

"Yes. Villenguard. Not Cardiff, not Yorkshire and not London, which in case you hadn't noticed is the big city on the River Thames with the giant clock tower and the Parliament buildings.

He is still lost, so I continue. "You went on about Villenguard a lot before you decided we should visit Victorian London. After dealing with the Crimson Horror, I could use a relaxing walk in a banana grove and maybe some sleep before I have to go back to the Maitland's.

Good job Clara. That is an excellent way of not saying 'I don't want to leave you right now.'

"How about we do the Summer Solstice Party in Villenguard then? I swear nothing goes wrong, I've technically already been once so I know it ends well, we just need to get out of there by 1:52AM so I don't cross my own timeline, that usually ends badly. The people who work at the banana plantation really know how to party, not as well as the prerevolutionary French mind you, but they make much better banana daiquiris, probably since they can just pick fresh bananas… They also have a several thousand year advantage on the French since I _may_ have accidentally invented the banana daiquiris that one time when I was at King Louis XV's court… Oh! And! And you don't even have to worry about changing again! You will look wonderfully earth retro as is." He finishes, seemingly very pleased with himself.

This sounds like a lot of fun, not exactly a relaxing walk in a banana grove, but fun. So why not?

"Push the button." I say with a smile.

He steps behind me, strictly speaking closer than he probably needs to be (not that I am supposed to be noticing that) and gently takes both of my hands, guiding them across the TARDIS controls, flicking switches, moving dials, setting coordinates and turning a key which I notice is engraved with 'Smiths.' He lets go of my hands after placing them both on _the _lever, letting me do that bit on my own.

"Geronimo." He says softly in my ear, as I pull the lever down and we are sent off hurtling through space and time once again.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you those who favourited, thank you those who followed, thank you so much those who reviewed, and a big thank you to everyone who read through to the end! This chapter took longer than I had hoped to write. Clara kept running away and getting a bit too cheeky on me… I want to keep trying write more while I am not in school, so if anyone has any ideas or prompts that they would like to see me take a stab at, please feel free to suggest them! **

**Thank you again for all your patience with a very inexperienced writer! **


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